


Love Replies

by ThePerk42



Series: There You Will Find Your Treasure. [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bed-Wetting, Coming of Age, Consent is Sexy, Dragons, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Harry Potter's family is larger than I expected, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Postpartum Depression, Quidditch, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29167989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePerk42/pseuds/ThePerk42
Summary: A series of moments in Harry Potter's life in which he has the unique opportunity to understand exactly what love is."What is love?", you ask,My head spins, recallin' every song,Story, words, and glorious things I ever heard,Every cliché rings in my ear;sLike a bell announcin' the birth of a new day,Or the death of yesterday,Depends on how you hear it,I haven't a clue,So I ask love: "What are you?"Home ~ Imelda May**Tags will be updated as additional chapters are added**
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Sirius Potter/Other, Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley
Series: There You Will Find Your Treasure. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162304
Comments: 18
Kudos: 24





	1. In Dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Harry has a dream that he can’t completely recall. He knows it wasn’t a nightmare, but he’s not sure if it was a good dream either.

* * *

_Can't you feel me? I'm here_

_I'm the one holdin' your hand remindin' you not to forget me_

It’s well past midnight when Harry wakes, his heart pounding in his chest. He turns to look out the window and sees the crescent shape of the moon perfectly poised to sit in the middle of the glass pane. Like a painting, he thinks, running his hand down his sweating face. On his other side lays his girlfriend -no, fiancé. It’s a new title, she only just proposed to him last night, and despite the tight feeling in his stomach that seems to be lingering from his dream, he can’t ignore the swelling joy in his chest. He _had_ planned to propose to her, but she beat him to it, and he can’t say he’s upset.

She’s fast asleep, her face smushed against the fabric of the pillows, her hair a mess from their earlier fumblings. She’s beautiful to him, now, in the moonlight, just as she always is. But he can’t ignore the jolt that awoke him so suddenly from sleep. He tries to think of his dream, to remember what happened. It gives him a strange sensation to try and remember. Just four years ago, his dreams served as a useful but dangerous connection to a violent and terrible wizard. His dreams haven’t been helpful since then, but the concern about what they mean hasn't quite faded yet.

He moves to get out of bed and Ginny makes a noise like she’s waking. “Whazzat?” Her hand, right near her mouth, twitches a little.

“I’ll be back,” Harry whispers, not wanting to fully wake her. He brushes his fingertips over her hair and leaves the bedroom as quietly as he can. Grimmauld place has been his home since he was 17, but it still seems eerie in the dark. Even after all of the work that has been done to make it feel more pleasant and homey, he can’t quite say it fills him with warmth. Pondering on the content of the dream that woke him, he heads down a floor to the drawing room, where he’s put some recently purchased and far more comfortable furniture than he has in other areas of the house. Ginny helped him decorate the room and it speaks of her – the vibrant tapestry that hangs in front of the immoveable Black family tree makes the room bright, even when Harry doesn’t light any candles. The curtains hang open on the windows, now, letting in some of the moonlight which falls directly on the new sofa. Harry thought a simple brown leather sofa would do, but Ginny was rather fond of the floral pattern. Harry's sofa has a cacophony of small and large flowers on it.

He sits down in the shaft of moonlight and pulls his knees up towards his chin, trying to grasp at the sandlike grains of his dream, straining mentally to remember what had happened. Next to him, Sirius and his parents are laughing in a photo. Sirius keeps leaning forward to poke at James and Lily is rolling her eyes. It’s their wedding photo, one of the only pictures that Harry has from before…before everything. It is one of his favourites of all of them – it reminds him that they once had the same happiness he is finding with Ginny. They, too, were able to laugh together. Behind the picture is a folded letter that his mother had written to Sirius, a letter in which she talks about _him_ , Harry. His heart still jolts sometimes when he thinks about the fact that he didn’t even know her and he still loves her so much.

He leans his head back on the arm of the sofa and closes his eyes, wondering if maybe that will help him to remember what he’s forgotten from the dream. It’s worth a try. He knows he’s being silly, working so hard to remember, but he feels like he won’t be able to get back to sleep until he deals with whatever it was that woke him. There’s a small part of him that fears closing his eyes and experiencing whatever it was all over again. He runs his hands up and down the length of his pyjama bottoms, feels the flannel fabric beneath his fingers, and thinks about how he felt when he woke up. He thinks about the shadow of people behind the lids of his eyes, and what those people meant to him in his dream.

And then he remembers. It comes to him quickly, like the flick of a switch; so quickly, in fact, that it doesn’t really feel like he ever forgot at all. He dreamed that he was back at the battle of Hogwarts. At the moment when he turned the stone and saw all of his lost loved ones, back with him in the waking world. But this time, Fred was there, too. His heart clenches when he thinks about his friends, his mentors, his family. Why did his brain take him back there?

He remembers, too, that even though the setting was the battle of Hogwarts, it wasn’t actually right. Harry was the same age he is now – 19 years old, rather than the true age of 17 that he had been. And he hadn’t been talking to them about how it felt to die or how he was going to face Voldemort. He was talking to them about… _Ginny_. He was telling them all how much he loved her and how excited he was to be marrying her. He was telling them about their engagement and what he dreamed their married life would be like. He was getting the opportunity to celebrate this wonderful news with his loved ones.

Harry opens his eyes slowly and stares up at the ceiling. He remembers what Sirius told him once – that the ones we love never really leave us, that they are always with us. And as Harry has experienced many times, he remembers again just how true the sentiment is. He wishes that his mother and father and godfather were here with him today. He wishes that Remus and Tonks were still around to see their son taking his first steps and saying his first real words. He wishes that Fred was still around to tease him the way he always had. But they are with him still, even if he only gets to see them in his dreams.

He wipes his face which feels conspicuously damp despite the fact that he’s not sweating anymore. A creaking noise outside the drawing room startles him suddenly. Kreacher is rarely up at this time of night, and he left his wand in the bedroom, so he has to make a split decision about whether he should respond to the noise by jumping up to fight or shrinking down to hide. It’s not in his nature to hide, so of course he jerks his head over the edge of the sofa to look at the door. Ginny is standing there, wearing one of his older t-shirts (which really only looks good on her now), and looking at him like he’s an apparition. Harry sinks down on the sofa, all of the tension ebbing out of him.

“Why’d you leave?” she asks. He can hear her walking towards him in the moonlit space and stays just where he is. She walks further into the room so that she can join him on the sofa. Harry parts his legs so that she can settle between them, draping her torso over his. “Everything okay?” she asks him, fingertips tracing the shape of his ribs.

He huffs and moves to still her hand as the tickling sensation grows. “Yeah, just a weird dream.”

“Want to talk about it?” She won’t be offended if he says no, but she’ll be a good listener if he says yes.

Harry shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know if I can explain it,” he says. The specific parts of the dream are already fading away, like parchment that been lit and and pieces of it are crumbling away as it burns. But the feeling remains – a small amount of tension, a bit of fear, but so much love. “I think it was about you and me, and maybe…some other people.”

Ginny nods against his chest. “I’ve had dreams like that,” she tells him. “Where you remember how they made you feel but not really what they were about.”

Harry moves his hand to run it through her hair, still slightly tangled from earlier that night. Ginny's eyes close and her breath is warm, even through the cotton of his shirt. "I wish we could tell everyone, you know."

She hums her assent, like she can read his mind despite his cryptic words. "They know," she tells him, and perhaps, he thinks, they do. 


	2. The Potter Punt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny wonders if their plan will work, and Harry wants to support her, but isn’t sure how. Life is not easy when you are young with the world at your feet.

* * *

_”I'm the warm feelin' in your belly when you don't know why”_

Neville sits across the table from Harry and frowns at something just over Harry’s shoulder. He is holding his drink a little more tightly than he needs to and looks like he’s preparing to do something painful or disgusting. “I’ve been thinking about applying for Professor’s Sprout’s spot,” he tells the wall, like he’s scared to look at Harry when he does it.

“That’s a great idea, Neville!” Harry isn’t sure why Neville seems so nervous – plants have always been Neville’s area of expertise and working at the school would be a great fit for his personality.

“You’re not mad?” Neville takes a quick sip of his drink, but over-calculates in his haste and spills some of it down his front. Apparently without thought, he quickly casts a scorgify charm at the mess and then looks back up at Harry.

“Why would I be mad?”

“We trained together to be aurors. With you taking over as head of the department, I thought you might be…I don’t know, pissed that I was thinking of leaving.”

Harry gives it some thought. Neville is one of the bravest and most committed people on his team, but Harry knows that his heart truly lies in sharing knowledge and kindness with others. Neville is a terrific auror, but he would make an even better professor. “Well, I won’t lie – we will miss you and it’s a shame that we won’t have your skill in the department, anymore. But…as long as you’re willing to consult on the interesting plants that come up, I promise I won’t hold a grudge.”

Neville’s entire countenance seems to change – like his whole body had been tense, waiting for the blow to fall. He lets out a long breath and his shoulders sag in relief. He finally looks Harry in the eye, and he looks the happiest he’s looked in a long time. “Thanks, Harry,” he finally says, and takes a more properly aimed swig of his drink.

“Is that what you’ve been wanting to talk about all week?” Neville nods. “Why’d you let me wait for Friday? Why didn’t we talk about this sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. I thought if I caught you right before Ginny’s game, you’d be less likely to…focus too much on it?” The way Neville finishes his thought makes it sound like a question. He’s not entirely wrong, either. Half of Harry’s brain power is currently focused on Ginny and how she will do tonight. They’ve spent all of their spare time in the last few weeks at the Burrow, using the paddock to practice a new move she wants to try at today’s match. He feels a little swooping sensation in his lower abdomen and ignores it, grinning at Neville.

“Smart thinking.” Then he leans forward a little, so that Neville knows he is paying attention. “Tell me about the application process. What can I do to help?”

They spend the next hour or so talking about the position at Hogwarts and some of Neville’s already thought-out lesson plans. Harry knows he a shoe-in for the role, but promises to write him a letter of recommendation, regardless. After they’ve both had a few, it’s time for Harry to head off, lest he miss his pre-game ritual with Ginny. His stomach twists a little as he thinks about her, how she will perform tonight, all of the work she’s putting into creating a name for herself. She’s been on the Harpies team for about two years now, and, while he may be a little biased, he is pretty certain that she is the best player they’ve got. Her name is in the paper after every game and his heart swells with pride when he thinks about her last game – how she still scored three goals, even after a rogue bludger cracked her wrist. There’s nothing for it – his wife is a total bad ass.

With thoughts of Ginny’s success on his mind, he is a little distracted when he bids farewell to Neville, but Neville doesn’t seem to mind – his head is still in the clouds with thoughts of a professorial position. Harry apparates to the quidditch stadium and makes his way to the locker rooms. He’s not allowed in the Harpies’ changing room, so he just knocks on the door and waits for someone to come and answer. He feels a bit like a groupie, standing outside the entrance and nodding awkwardly at staff as they walk by. It’s good, though, to know that he’s able to do something a little outside of _his_ comfort zone to support Ginny. Finally, Gemma, one of the beaters, comes greet him. She doesn’t say anything to Harry, just smiles and turns to yell for Ginny. “You’re boy toy is here!” A passing stadium employee narrows her eyes as she walks by and Harry tries to ignore the flush creeping up his neck.

“Thanks, Gem,” he mutters, hands in his pockets.

Ginny comes up behind Gemma and shoos her away, stepping out into the walkway with Harry. She is in her shirt and trousers, but hasn’t put her robes on yet. She looks like she just finished having a frustrating conversation with someone. “Is everything okay?” he asks, reaching out to hug her.

“Gwenog is adamant that I can’t do the Finnelton Flip tonight.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry commiserates with her. “You’ve been practicing with Marie and Gordy for weeks.”

“That’s her point exactly. She’s got it in her head that Puddlmere United has been spying on our practices and will ‘anticipate’ the move.” Ginny’s voice is sour and she steps back to angrily cross her arms over her chest. Harry scoffs and waits for her to say something else. “She says I just have to wait until the next match, but the Tornado’s don’t play the same way, she knows that.”

Harry is worried that Ginny might the let the frustration worm its way to deep into her head and keep her from being on form tonight. “Next time we find a good maneuver, we’ll just practice at home and you won’t tell Gwenog until the day of the game. That way, she’ll have to let you do it.”

Ginny laughs at him and much of her tension seems to seep out of her. “Okay, it’s a deal.” Ginny opens her mouth to say something else, but is interrupted when the door behind her swings open.

Gene pokes her head out of the changing room. “Hey, Gwenog says to get your butt back in here. We’re ready.”

Ginny nods and Harry takes this as his cue to get moving. He waits for the door to close and pulls a hot pretzel, wrapped in paper and kept warm with a charm, out of his inner pocket. “Half for me,” he says, tearing it in half, “and half for you.” Ginny smiles and taps her pretzel-half against Harry’s in a toasting motion. This has been their tradition since her first game. Just before she started with the Harpies, Harry took her to a muggle football game in Germany and they decided to try the snack of choice – a warm, soft, doughy pretzel. Ever since then, Harry somehow manages to make sure he arrives at her games in time for them to split a pretzel beforehand. “Good luck out there,” Harry tells her, thoughtfully watching as she rips a piece of the pretzel off with her teeth. “Not that you need it, hm?”

Ginny gives him a quick kiss before she hurries back into the change room, lest she incur the wrath of Gwenog. Harry makes his way up to the top box, finishing his pretzel as he goes. The other family and friends of the team will be sitting there, filling the box with eager anticipation. Gemma’s wife and daughter are usually there, as well as Gene’s partner, so he usually has someone to talk to. Honestly, he wouldn’t usually want to be separated from the rest of the crowd this way, but it is kind of nice to get away from people staring at him, the whispers around him that never seem to fade, and to be able to focus on Ginny playing the game. It took the rest of the team’s family a while to get used to Harry, but since there haven’t been any new spots to fill for the last year, he’s treated much like anyone else inside the box these days.

It’s a swift game from the very beginning. Puddlemere takes some aggressive tactics and almost knocks Marie and Gordy flying off their brooms. A chaser on the other team, Vincent, scores three times before Ginny can even get her hands on the quaffle. It’s looking like it’s going to be a painful loss for the Harpies, and Harry _knows_ that the flip they had been practicing would be a perfect way to save the game. It must be killing Ginny not to use the move, but without the cooperation of on of the beaters, there’s no way it will work. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Ginny scores and the crowd erupts in cheers, waves of green and gold up and down the stands. The announcer reminds them that its still 30-10, Puddlemere and Harry finds his hands clenching on his knees. It’s not like the Harpies can’t get back in the lead, but if Puddlemere keeps playing dirty, it will be difficult for them to keep up.

“Finally! Bloody forever to get up here,” Ron’s voice is saying behind Harry. Harry turns to see Hermione and Ron making their way towards him. Gordy’s brother, who always comes to cheer her on, moves over to make room for them to sit by Harry.

“I didn’t think you could make it tonight?” Harry asks, as Ron continues to grumble about having climb 200 steps (it’s really more like 100, tops).

Hermione sits down next to him and waves her Harpies flag excitedly, looking at the pitch rather than Harry when she answers. “I managed to finish my work early tonight and Ron and I thought it would be a good way to decompress.”

“Mom told me I wasn’t being a very supportive brother, more like,” Ron winces at that. He is the only one of Ginny’s brothers who hasn’t been to one of her games this year. In Ron’s favour, though, he has covered two of Harry’s shifts so that Harry hasn’t yet had to miss a game yet.

Harry offers Ron a lopsided grin and turns back to watch the pitch where Ginny is just about to score again. A bludger is whistling through the air towards her, about to barrel into her side when she drops off of her broom, holding on with her free hand and ankles, so that the bludger soars by her. Then, she makes a spectacular shot and, from the underside of her broom, manages to score a goal as the keeper is distracted by the crowd’s concern that Ginny is falling. Harry punches the air and jumps up.

“That was amazing!” Gemma’s daughter is clapping with enthusiasm and Harry can’t help his grin. That’s _his_ wife out there.

Eventually, through the combined efforts of Marie, Gordy, and Ginny, they’ve managed to pull ahead by ten points. It’s 150-140, Harpies in the lead. The game has gone on for a while now, and Harry is starting to wonder when Gemma is going to catch the snitch. Not that he doesn’t like a good game, but it’s stressful to have both teams neck-in-neck for so long. His hair must be even messier than usual, the amount he’s been pulling at it in the last hour or so. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a green blur – Gemma has made a dive. She’s shooting towards the base of one of the goal posts where Harry sees the telltale glimmer of gold. If she can catch it, they’ll win without a doubt. Puddlemere’s seeker is on the other side of the pitch, looking around like a befuddled puppy dog.

Gemma almost slams into the ground, but wraps her fingers around the snitch and pulls up at the last possible second. It’s a beautiful catch and the crowd erupts with cheers. Harry jumps up out of his seat and Gemma’s wife, Jennifer, wraps him in a celebratory hug. Hermione is clapping violently and Ron is pumping the air with his fist. After much of the stadium has filtered out, they make their way down and towards the apparation point. Harry thinks that Ginny will probably want to go out and celebrate with her team but he still wants to go and congratulate her before heading home, so he bids farewell to Ron and Hermione and heads back towards the lockers.

Ginny and Gemma are standing outside of the fitting room when he gets there, already in their muggle clothes, waiting for everyone else to catch up. “The stars of the game!” Harry says, shaking Gemma’s hand and pulling Ginny into a hug. “That was an incredible save,” he tells Gemma, and she punches him in the arm.

“We’re going to go and get some drinks to celebrate. I should be home in a few hours,” Ginny tells him. She looks apologetic. For some reason, she always seems to feel guilty about going and celebrating with her teammates. As much as Harry would like to spend the time with her, he understands he can’t have her all to himself and doesn’t want her to feel bad, so he always tries to make a point of being excited about her going.

“Sounds like a lot of fun!” he says, and Gemma rolls her eyes.

“Why do you have to be so supportive all the time? It’s boring.”

Ginny laughs at that and pulls Harry to the side. “Don’t wait up for me, okay? I don’t know how late we’ll be and you have work tomorrow.”

“I’ll see. I want to have my own celebration with the star of the game,” he runs his hands up and down her waist and dips to kiss her. “That goal, upside down on your broom? That was incredible. Think they’ll name one after you? The Potter Punt?”

She smiles at him. “We’ll see about that. But seriously, don’t stay up too late, we can always celebrate tomorrow. Love you!” She rises up on tiptoe to kiss Harry and that’s his cue to leave so that he doesn’t embarrass her by being the only partner that seems to hover around after a game. He waves goodbye to Gemma, who is now pretending to gag, and heads home.

He’s not sure when he fell asleep, but he must have, because he wakes up to Ginny trying (and failing) to stealthily change into her pyjamas. He’s on the bed in his trousers and Holyhead Harpies t-shirt, but Ginny must have taken off his shoes at some point. He rolls over to put on his glasses so that she turns from a blur into her actual self. She is in just her underwear, a neon blue sports bra and one of his favourite pairs of her underpants; the cut of the dark grey fabric hugs her bum perfectly.

“You’re awake,” she says, looking apologetic.

“Yes, I told you I wanted to celebrate. Come here.” He sits up on the bed and welcomes her body heat as she climbs on top of him. She smells like firewhiskey and her eyes are a little unfocused. “How much did you drink?” They’ve had conversations before about their comfort level with having sex after drinking. But if Ginny is drunk enough not to remember, he doesn’t think they’ll be doing anything more than some light, over-the-clothes touching tonight.

“Not much, actually.” She’s already reaching for the hem of his shirt so that she can pull it off over his head, sending his glasses askew. “Gwenog got piss drunk and dumped a full glass of firewhiskey on me. That’s what you’re smelling.” Harry runs his fingers through her hair, and sure enough, her ponytail is still slightly damp from the errant alcohol. “We good?”she asks him, reaching for the fly on his trousers.

He can’t say no to her. In short order, they’re both undressed and Harry is lying on his back in their bed. He’s about halfway down, with his legs dangling over the edge, so that Ginny has room to hold herself up on all fours above him, her pelvis level with his face. His hands move up and down her naked thighs and his face moves between her legs. Harry spends a while trying to please her, despite the fact that this is one of the things that is usually guaranteed to make Ginny come more than once, and quickly. She’s strangely quiet tonight and Harry wonders if maybe she had more to drink than she let on. Ignoring his own eagerness, Harry pulls away from what he’s doing and tips his head back to look at her. Looking up, from his position, he can see her breasts, dipping down with gravity and her freckled arms pressing into the mattress. Her red hair makes a sheet of colour that hides the headboard from him, but he can only see the point of her chin – she seems to be looking up at something.

“Ginny?” he asks, hands soothing up and down her legs. “Is something wrong?” She seemed excited enough to get into bed together before, but if she’s changed her mind, he’s not above going to the bathroom and having a quick wank. It’s happened before and it’s certain to happen again. She doesn’t respond but her hair moves above him as she adjusts her posture, otherwise failing to react to his question. “Hey,” he says, pinching her bum lightly to get her attention.

“What?” Ginny sounds slightly annoyed, but she’s finally realized that he’s talking to her and sits back on his chest, running her hands through his hair. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Am I doing something wrong here?” Harry asks, sounding only slightly concerned. “I’m pulling out all the stops, but it’s like you’re in another world.”

“Sorry,” she says, tracing his eyebrows with her thumbs. “I’m just a little distracted.”

Harry rubs his hands up and down her thighs and then scratches lightly at her lower back. She is a warm presence on his chest, but not heavy. Her hair trails down her back and tickles at his hands as he traces shapes on her skin. “It’s okay. What’s going on?” It’s not his favourite experience to fail to please her, but he can put his ego on the shelf, particularly when she seems so perturbed.

“I’ve just been thinking. I almost fell at the game today.”

“But you didn’t,” he tells her, grinning, still proud of her.

“That’s right,” she says, scooting back on his torso so that she can trace shapes on his chest. “But what if I had? And a bludger hit me right in the ribcage in practice last week.”

Ginny’s always quick to heal and doesn’t suffer for long after sports industries. There’s more to this than Ginny is telling him. Harry raises an eyebrow at her and waits for her to complete her thought. But she doesn’t give him anymore insight. Instead, Ginny sighs and swings her leg around to sit next to Harry’s head. She drags her hand across his abdomen and sighs. She looks somewhat forlornly at his erection and then makes a pinched sort of face. “Sorry, I guess I’m not really in the mood tonight, after all.”

Harry turns over on his side so that he’s facing her and raises his hand to trail his finger down the side of her warm face. “That’s okay. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

“If I was pregnant today, or last week – that baby could have been hurt.”

“Are you?” he asks, feeling a swooping sensation of emotion in his belly that he tries to ignore so that he can focus on the conversation.

“Not that I know of. But, now that we’re not trying to avoid getting pregnant, I was wondering…do you think I should quit the Harpies?”

Harry considers her question for a moment. Ginny is, without a doubt, one of the best quidditch players he’s ever seen. She’s a natural once she gets on the broomstick and even her mistakes (like her goal tonight) look flawless, like the broomstick is a natural extension of herself. But more than that, Ginny loves to play – it is something all her own. She isn’t hidden in Harry’s “The Chosen One” shadow, nor is she overlooked by her family because “everyone else did it first”. As a quidditch player, Ginny gets to be a part of something exciting and unique that is just hers, and she deserves that. It makes Harry so proud to wear her jersey and celebrate her achievements. For her to leave quidditch would not make her any less special, but it might make her _feel_ that way.

“Do you _want_ to quit?” He runs his hand up and down the fine, light hair on her thigh as she thinks about his question. He can’t really see much, without his glasses, but maintaining contact with the softness of her body is a way to connect with her without being able to effectively make eye contact.

“Not really,” she finally says, like it pains her to admit it.

“Well, then I don’t think you should. I don’t think you would need to stop playing immediately if you got pregnant.”

“No?”

“No, but I think if you wanted to be really certain, you could talk to Gwenog and see what she thinks.”

“Oh Merlin, she’d have my head.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry muses, starting to trace small patterns on Ginny’s hips. “Not if you just…asked.”

“What if I decide I want to wait a little longer, before we have a baby?”

“That’s okay,” Harry says, without really thinking on his response. But when he takes a moment, he realizes it really is okay with him. They are still very young – he is only 21 and she is 20, and they will have years to build a family of their own. “If you want to wait, we can.”

“You don’t think it’s selfish?” She’s starting to second guess herself again.

Harry laughs and then stops himself short when she lets out a moan of frustration. “I’m sorry. No, I don’t think I’ve met anyone _less_ selfish. If you want to play for a little bit longer without worrying about a baby, we can do that. I understand.”

“You’re not just saying that?” He can hear the hope in her voice.

“Didn’t we agree, when we got married, that we would always be honest with one another?”

Ginny is the one who laughs now, but not quite with mirth, its more of a relieved exhale. She twists her body so that she is on her stomach next to Harry and begins to kiss him, slow and soft like they’ve got all the time in the world. “Can you remember the spell?” she asks, trailing her hand down his stomach.

Harry nods and has to fumble around on the bedside table for his wand, but in short order, Ginny has clambered atop him and is more than making up for her distant attitude earlier.


	3. Just a Little More Time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s unexpected, her reaction. Harry hasn’t had to deal with this before, but he tries the best that he can. 
> 
> *This chapter deals with the experience of post partum depression without clinical or graphic references*

* * *

_I'm the ache to the core when one someone sways to the other side of a vibe_

“Don’t touch me!” Ginny is sitting on the edge of the mattress on her side of the bed, as far as she can get from Harry while still being seated. He’s just come home from work and found her sitting there, with an over large t-shirt and a pair of sleep bottoms on. The children are all, miraculously, asleep, which is in and of itself a rarity; with a 4-year-old, 2-year-old, and newborn, it’s not often that they are able to get all three down simultaneously.

Harry pulls his hand back and away from Ginny’s shoulder, as though burnt by her outburst. “Ginny,” he asks, trying once more, “what’s wrong?” He reaches for her again, fingertips brushing her arm, but she wrenches herself away from him.

“I told you not to touch me!” She’s never been like this before, not even when she’s been at her angriest with him, and Harry is dumbstruck – he hasn’t a clue what to do.

He pulls his hands back to himself, resting them on his thighs, and resists the urge to reach out to her again. “Okay, I’m not touching you.” Waits a beat, and then asks, “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

It’s been just over eight weeks since they brought their brand new, bright pink, beautiful baby daughter home. Lily Luna is the love that Harry never knew he needed in his life, but, for some reason, since her arrival in their home, Ginny has seemed to become more and more distant. He’s never seen his wife so withdrawn. She looks exhausted, even though he knows she’s sleeping more now than she did even when she was pregnant, and he never hears her joking with the boys anymore. She has been less talkative with every passing day, and when Harry tried to cuddle with her last night before they slept, she wriggled out of his grasp. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, but he wants to do whatever it takes to get it right. When she doesn’t answer his question, he tries to find the answer. “Are you upset that I’ve been working so much? I’m sorry – we just broke a case on those backward-hexing wands – but I can pass it off to Lumburg if you want me to be home.”

“You’ve been working, have you?” Something in her tone sounds accusatory.

“Yes, I’ve been working.” He says the words slowly, not sure what else he would be doing. Nothing other than his job has ever kept Harry away from his family, particularly when they have had a brand new baby at home. “And I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much. Listen, when I go in tomorrow, I’ll give the case over. I’ll take the admin work for a while so I can keep more regular hours.” For a short moment, he has hope that this might have fixed the issue.

But then, Ginny seems to grunt. She still won’t look at him. He risks reaching for her once more, fingertips almost grazing the light skin of her arm. Before he can make contact, she whips around and glares at him. Her eyes are red, her mouth is tight. Her nose has been running and she quickly wipes at it with the back of her hand. “Don’t bother, Harry. If you do that, how will you be able to cover up what you’re really doing?”

He’s quite lost now. “Sorry?” He glances at the door as her voice rises, worried she might wake one of the children (or all of them).

“I know I’m not as pretty as I used to be,” she says, pulling at the fabric of her sleep shirt so that it tents around her abdomen, “but I’m still your wife!”

“I…know that you’re my wife.” He feels like they are having an argument that he failed to study for.

“Then you should act like it!” Ginny narrows her eyes, like she’s trying to read his mind. “Are you having an affair?”

“An affair?” For a moment, he has to think about what she means. An affair? She thinks he’s seeing someone else? Maybe…sleeping with someone else? The thought has never, not once, crossed Harry’s mind. He’s so caught off guard that he just looks at her for a moment, both of their questions hanging in the air.

When he doesn’t answer right away, she becomes even more upset. Her raised voice turns into a violent whisper. “Yes, Harry! An affair! Are you seeing someone else? Sleeping with someone else?”

He shakes his head slowly, still befuddled as to where this idea has come from. He’s been working a few more hours recently, to be certain, but it’s nothing compared to how much he had to work after James was born, and she never thought he was having an affair then. “No,” he finally answers. “I’m not. And, if I can just touch on something you said earlier?” His brain is finally catching up with the conversation, but he waits for Ginny to nod before he continues. “You are as pretty as you’ve always been. You’re gorgeous.” He inches forward on the bed, wanting to hold her in his arms, to offer the comfort she has so often given him, but she rockets off of the bed, away from his reach.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says. She rips her shirt off over her head, exposing her bare torso. Her breasts are larger than usual, meaning that Lily probably hasn’t nursed in a few hours and she’s likely tender. The skin of her stomach is still slightly loose from her pregnancy, but the redness that she had when she was still carrying Lily has faded. As Harry’s looking at her, she also removes her sleep pants. She looks, to Harry, quite unchanged from all of her previous pregnancies. This is a body he knows well – the body his wife has for some time after she has given him the gift of a child. It’s a body he loves and cherishes and he longs to move across the bed to her, but feels that doing so will only enrage her further. So instead, he looks down at his fingers on the fabric of their duvet.

“You look just as beautiful to me as you always have.” He says it quietly, fearful that it might make her angrier, but not quite sure of what else to do.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She repeats her earlier statement with even more venom in her voice. “I felt the way you barely wanted to touch me last night.”

“What?” His head snaps up quickly. “No, I wanted to…I wanted to cuddle, but you seemed angry. I didn’t want to be in your space. You’ve seemed…distant recently. I wanted to…respect…what you wanted.” He feels like an idiot, struggling to get the most basic of words out, but his heart is squeezing in his chest right now as he watches Ginny standing in front of him. Her clothing is in a dark pool at her feet, and tears are slowly making their way down her face. She listens to him and slowly crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet, then?” She sounds slightly mollified, but there is still an edge to her voice. “Two days ago – that was eight weeks. And with the boys…it was different.”

Ginny had a difficult delivery with Lily, which meant that they had had to wait a little bit longer after Lily’s birth than with the boys to engage in any sort of penetration. But she’s right – when they had James and Al, it was only days before they were fooling around again, enjoying each other’s company in the bedroom. That hasn’t happened since she’s come home from the hospital. “You didn’t seem to want to,” Harry says, honestly. “I didn’t want to push you.”

He feels like such an idiot now. He should have listened to Hermione when she told him that every pregnancy was different and not to expect this one to be like the first two. He could have done something about this weeks ago, he thinks, but he failed to notice what his wife needed from him and failed to show her the attention she deserved. “Ginny,” he groans, finally sliding across the bed, “please, won’t you let me hold you?” It’s a plea he doesn’t recall ever making in their seven years of marriage, but he’s not above grovelling if it’s going to make her feel better. Something in her eyes softens, and she takes a step towards the bed.

“You mean it?” She looks anxious about asking, but then goes on. “You’re not having an affair?”

“Ginny,” he tries not to laugh at the absurdity of the question and stretches his fingertips towards her. “I have never even given a single thought to it. Not once – not even for a second.” With that, she flops onto the bed next to him, letting him pull her body towards his. “I am so sorry – this is all my fault,” he says, kissing her wherever he can – the top of her head, the corners of her mouth, the smooth skin of her cheek. “I should have been paying more attention. I should have been better at this.”  
Ginny huffs when he touches his lips to the tip of her breast. “Sensitive,” she tells him, and so he avoids them in the way he often does while she’s still nursing.

When he starts to kiss his way down her abdomen, she touches the top of his head, causing him to stop and look up at her. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she says, knowing where his path was going to take him. “I look…I feel…different.”

Harry rests his chin gently on her belly, looking up at her. “You felt a little different after James and Al, too,” he says, “but nothing looked different. Just you. My beautiful, wonderful, patient, vibrant wife.” She laughs now and runs her fingers through Harry’s hair.

“Okay,” she says. “But could we…just cuddle?”

Harry nods, ignoring his own arousal in favour of making sure Ginny feels attended to tonight. He’s clearly made mistake after mistake over the last two months, since they brought their daughter home, and he’s not going to do that again. He’s going to pay attention to her and listen to what she tells him. So he gets off of the bed and takes off his work clothes, stripping down to his underwear before getting back into bed with her.

“I want to be the big spoon,” she says, and he laughs at that. Ginny always wants to be the big spoon and he doesn’t really mind, but he likes getting to hold her every now and then, too. But tonight’s about what she needs and at least, this way, she won’t feel his insistent erection pressing into her back, so he nods and lays on his side. After just a moment, he feels her press up behind him, her breasts shifting against the skin of his back as she gets comfortable. She kisses the nape of his neck, runs her fingers along his bicep. “I’m sorry I got so angry,” she tells him.

Harry reaches an arm back and trails his fingers over her thigh. “I’m sorry I behaved that way. I promise, I’m going to be better from now on.”

They fall asleep that way, and in the morning, Ginny seems distant again. She is quiet as they eat breakfast, trying to feed James and Al while Harry rocks a crying Lily. She doesn’t talk to him when they take the kids to the park and he wonders if he should have stayed at the office that day. But at night, once they’ve put everyone down for sleep, she snuggles up against his chest while he’s reading in bed and presses a kiss to his throat. “I just need some time,” she tells him. And it breaks his heart, to know she’s suffering, and he can’t change it, but he’ll do whatever he can to help, even if that just means being with her.


	4. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’re reading this in real time, it’s Valentine’s Day today! A little brotherly love is a perfect way to celebrate. :)
> 
> When Ron comes home from St. Mungo’s, Ginny encourages Harry to be honest about his feelings.

* * *

_I'm the tingle of your skin when it's touched by the tip of a thrill you can rely on_

Harry Potter spent the majority of his first 11 years of life not really knowing what it meant to show love in a healthy way. Not only could he not remember the affection his parents had shown him (and each other) in his first year, in the ten years following that, he had witnessed his aunt and uncle showering their son in a toxic love that spoiled him rotten. Harry, meanwhile, had never felt the affection of a friend or parental figure, toxic or otherwise. Even when he went to Hogwarts and made close friends, he still struggled to understand the appropriate ways in which to feel and express his affection (romantic and platonic) around others. It was difficult for him to know what was too much, what was too little, what was enough. Ginny has always been patient with him about that, in ways that many other people struggle with. It’s like she can read his mind, sometimes, the way she knows what he’s thinking even when he doesn’t say it. And he’s grateful for it, but it _has_ made him a little complacent – he doesn’t always recognize that he’s failing to show someone else that he cares, because he’s gotten so used to Ginny understanding his actions and intent. Twelve years of being married to Ginny, of watching her and their extended family with the children…one would think that Harry would have adapted and learned new ways to show his affection to his friends and family, but old habits die hard.

Ron has recently been released from St. Mungo’s after a frighteningly close call on a mission. Harry and Ron had been leading the case due to the potential danger – two Death Eaters who had been on the run for over a decade had finally slipped up enough to tip off the auror department about their potential whereabouts. Leading a small team of only six aurors, lest they alert their targets, Harry and Ron had followed the Death Eaters to a small cabin, protected with a number of enchantments. After days of observing and taking notes, they managed to break through the protective spells and discovered not two, but four, runaway Death Eaters inside. The battle had been bloody and violent. While none of the aurors had died, two of the Death Eaters had escaped, and Ron had ended up in St. Mungo’s after being hit with a particularly nasty curse that produced massive wounds that did not seem to heal with any sort of magic. But after about a month in the hospital, a cure has been found and Ron is ready to come home.

Harry and Ginny are watching Hugo and Rose while Hermione picks Ron up from St. Mungo’s. The kids are upstairs playing while Harry and Ginny relax on the sofa, though Harry’s energy is anxious as he waits for his friend to finally arrive. After a short while of sitting in silence, the fireplace lights up bright green as Ron tumbles out, looking more like himself than he has in weeks. Harry drops his magazine, his face brightens, and he rises from the sofa with his hands in his pockets. He nods at Ron who nods back before crouching down to hug his children, who came running down the stairs at the sound of the floo. The three Potter children are also begging for attention from their Uncle Ron and James, in particular, is hungry for details about his garish wounds.

Hermione steps through the floo shortly after and goes upstairs to pack up the kids’ things. Harry is still watching Ron with a far-off sort of look on his face when Ginny jabs him in the side – not too hard, but hard enough to get his attention. “Ouch,” he says, even though it didn’t hurt. “What was that for?”

“Tell him,” Ginny urges.

“Tell him what?”

“What you’re thinking. That you’re glad he’s alive and that you’ve missed him.”

Harry looks at her like she might have three heads and his cheeks are little red. “He knows that already.”

“Just tell him. Go upstairs to the study and have a little chat. He’d like it.”

“It’d be weird.”

“No, it won’t.” Sometimes Ginny has no clue what she’s talking about, but he knows when to pick his battles - he’s not going to have an argument with his wife about this. He can just take Ron upstairs and act like he wanted his opinion on something. He can fish out a book or paper on short notice. So, he nods to Ginny and then waves at Ron to follow him upstairs. Ron disentangles himself from the children who all seem crestfallen at his absence – that is, until Ginny tells them she will let them take turns on her broom.

They can hear Hermione puttering around in Lily’s room, gathering up the toys that Hugo and Lily have strewn about, but Harry guides Ron to the study. He closes the door behind Ron and then starts, “I wanted to…” But the words, the false request for insight die in his throat when he sees Ron, his best friend and brother, standing before him with hand in his pockets and an inquisitive look on his face. Harry thinks about all the times they have been able to communicate with each other just with a look, the times that he and Ron have covered for one another on a mission, had each other’s back – the times that Ron has made sure Harry hasn’t screwed things up too badly with Ginny and Harry has done the same for Ron with Hermione. He thinks about the fact that he could have lost it all, just like that, if things had gone just a little differently. Harry’s heart pounds loudly in his chest and he must stare at Ron for a long moment, because Ron finally says, looking a little concerned, “Are you okay?”

Harry takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. He puts his glasses back on and blinks at Ron. “Ginny said I should tell you that I missed you.”

Ron blinks. “Well did you?”

An exasperated sigh escapes Harry without his approval. “Of course, I did! I was worried sick about you – thought you were going to die in that hospital. It was like I couldn’t keep my head on straight. I had to go home early more than once because I kept accidentally throwing paperwork into the rubbish rather than the mail bin.” This was rather egregious, since the rubbish bins in the auror department burned everything immediately.

“You care about me,” Ron said, in a singsong voice. But there was something in his eyes that told Harry this meant something to him.

“Don’t take the piss,” Harry murmurs. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Hey,” Ron’s voice is conciliatory now, and he takes a step towards Harry. “It’s nice, nice that you said something. I was in that hospital, thinking about all the times it’s been you and not me, and…how I felt. I know what you mean.”

That’s about as sappy as they can get, and Harry nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t die.”

“Me, too. Hermione would have killed me.” Both of them laugh at that, though perhaps a little louder than they might normally.

Harry turns to open the study door and finds Hermione on the other side, clearly just pulling back from where she’s been listening. It looks as though she’s been crying a little. “Hermione,” Harry says, reaching for her. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re both so ridiculous!” She doesn’t yell, like she used to, but she does throw her arms around both of them and pull them into a collective hug. “Why can’t you just say that you love each other?”

Ron clears his throat and pats Hermione’s back while Harry tries to ignore the renewed lump in his throat. “We uh…we did,” Ron tells her, when they are finally released from the hug.

“Don’t lie to me, Ronald.” She wipes at her face and looks at them both sternly, bending to pick up the children’s bags from where she dropped them. “You two are just as stubborn as ever.”

They look at one another and shrug, following her downstairs. Hermione leaves first, thanking Harry and Ginny profusely for watching the kids, but still giving Harry that steely look. Then Rose and Hugo take their turns in the fireplace, waving goodbye to their forlorn cousins who already seem to miss the company regardless of their own busy home. Finally, Ron is last. He turns to Harry and grunts something like, “thank you,” and then pulls him into a brief hug. His face is red, and he pats Harry’s back a little harder than necessary before turning and rushing into the fireplace. Harry is left a little out of sorts, but with a warmth inside.

When he turns away from the fireplace, he sees Ginny looking at him with a knowing glint in her eye. One day, he thinks, she’ll teach him all there is to know about showing others he loves them. Until then, he’ll just have to keep relying the fact that she seems able to read his mind. 


	5. Romania is 2500 Kilometres Away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving home can be difficult. Leaving a warm, loving, safe home feels almost impossible for Lily Luna.

* * *

_The knowing, when your eyes meet eyes that recognize yours_

_And hold you, loose enough to move freely_

_But tight enough to never let you fall_

Harry is sitting on the porch steps, looking up at the sky – it’s a full moon tonight, which always makes him think of Remus, even though it’s been more than two decades since he last saw the man in person. He sits with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of himself and contemplates the inky blue-black canvas above him dotted with stars that Hermione would be able to identify. He can’t remember much from astrology, but she would. Muggles, he thinks, have landed on the moon, they have put rovers on Mars that send pictures back. They are able to work their own kind of magic, really.

A voice shakes him from his reverie. “Hey Dad,” Lily’s voice is quiet in the night air. He thought everyone was asleep, but it’s not surprising Lily can’t sleep – she’s 18 and leaves for her new job tomorrow; her Uncle Charlie got her a job in Romania working side by side with the creatures that she has been in love with ever since Harry first told her the story of the Hungarian Horntail. She’s terrified about leaving but ecstatic to be starting this new part of her life – Harry can tell, even if she won’t say it aloud.

“What are you doing up?” Harry turns to look at her, her bright red mohawk flopping to the side of her face. She’s wearing her pyjamas, but looks wide awake.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She scratches her arm and looks up towards the heavens, where Harry’s gaze must have been directed when she found him. “What are you looking at?”

“The sky. I was thinking about…outer space.” Harry pats the step next to him and waits for her to situate herself on the step. She leans into his warmth and accepts the mug of tea that he offers her.

“I’ve been thinking, too. My mind just keeps running like crazy.”

“What were you thinking about?”

She heaves a big sigh. It’s not like Lily to be anxious or to second guess herself. But this is a massive change – she’s never been this far from her family and she won’t be able to come back to visit until her training is done – not for another six months. She looks up at the sky and doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

“It’s just…am I making the wrong decision?”

“Well…you seemed pretty excited when you got hired earlier this year.”

“But Al still lives at home and he’s helping mom with the little ones. James and Teddy are so close. I feel like I would be…abandoning you all.”

Harry grins at that, not sure if she can see his face from where she’s seated. “Honey, my greatest dream in life is that you can all live yours. It just so happens that Al’s greatest dream is folding laundry with your mother. For now.” Lily laughs at that. Al has actually been spending a lot of time working on potions, which is a skill that must have skipped a generation, thinks Harry. “Seriously, though. You’ve wanted to work with dragons ever since you found out it was a possibility. You’re not abandoning us; you’re going after your own dreams. That’s okay.”

“You don’t think I’m being selfish?” Her voice is so small, so desperate. Like she’s terrified that he will tell her that she is selfish, that he’s been silently judging her.

“You know,” Harry says, turning his body a little so that he can look at her directly, “when I was growing up, I didn’t really have parents of my own who loved me. Your grandma and grandpa, yes. But it wasn’t the same for me, they weren’t _my_ parents. And while your mom and I got together right around the end of the war, I never really felt like there was anyone who would be concerned about _my_ future.”

Lily makes a face, like her heart is aching for him. But that’s not the point of his story, so he barrels on before she can say anything. “So, I just decided to be an auror, without considering what anyone else might think. That was hard for your mom. She was proud of me, for sure, but it meant we had to go months without seeing each other sometimes. And I had quite a few visits at St. Mungo’s in the beginning there. She was worried about me all the time, and our relationship had to keep getting put on hold for my career. She was so patient, even though I had never asked her opinion on it.”

“Mum is a saint,” Lily agrees as Harry takes a sip of his tea.

“You aren’t wrong there. But you know, later, when we would talk about it…after you all had been born, and there were birthdays and holidays that I missed, soccer games and special events, I asked your mom if she was mad at me. If she thought I had been selfish all your lives and you know what she said?”

“Of course she said no, Dad. She loves you too much to tell you the truth.”

Harry laughs and then stops himself to keep from waking their youngest. Harriet has constant nightmares and just fell asleep on the sofa inside before he stepped out on the porch. “She did say that I had been selfish. But she also said that we all need to be selfish sometimes, we need to fulfill our own needs so that we don’t resent others. She also said I was also doing it for a good reason – I was pursuing my own dreams, which would show all of you that you could have a loving family – whatever that looks like for you – and do something that matters to you.”

“Wow. Low blow.” Lily bumps Harry with her shoulder and grins at him.

“We want you to do this, honey. We want you to go after what excites you. I am so proud of you,” he reaches out to hug her and Lily reciprocates immediately. “But you had better make sure you can come back her for Christmas or your grandma’s going to have my hide.”

“Please tell me she isn’t trying to set me up with someone again. I told her, I’m not ready yet.”

Harry shrugs his shoulders. “It’s seven months away. Anything could happen.”

Lily ignores his comment and sighs, long and low. “I’m going to miss you,” Lily says, her voice sounding morose. She picks at the pilled fabric on her pyjama bottoms and looks sideways at Harry.

“I won’t miss you at all,” he says, unable to hide the laughter in his voice.

“You’re so awful!”

“What’s he done now?” Ginny is standing in the doorway, two new mugs of tea in her hands. She comes to sit on the other side of Lily on the step. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze with the three of them on the stairs, but Lily seems to be relishing the one-on-one time with her both of parents. In a family of ten, it’s a rare occurrence. Ginny hands Lily the second cup of tea and looks at Harry and Lily in askance, waiting for them to answer her question.

“I said I wouldn’t miss her when she goes,” Harry says, leaning back instantly to avoid Ginny’s swatting hand. “But you know I will, Lily.” He runs a hand over the back of her head, fingers brushing along the short hair on the sides of her scalp. “That doesn’t mean I want you to stay.”

“Nor me,” Ginny says. “I have enough laundry to be getting along with, thank you.”

“Now who’s teasing?” Lily laughs, but her voice sounds thick with emotion. “It’s just…it’s going to be so weird, not being able to go down the hall and talk to Dad in his study. Or helping Art with his math homework. Or showing Gid how to use the map.”

“You’ve taught him how to use the map?” Ginny frowns. “He’s only 7!”

“He needs to be prepared. Fabian won’t have anything to do with it though. He says someone told him never to trust anything with a brain if he couldn’t see where it was. I’m sure it’s going to be Harriet and Art that make use of it, but someone who’s sticking around needs to know so they can be taught.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her. “You do know it’s mine, right? Like, it belongs to me? We haven’t forgotten that?”

Ginny ignores Harry and refers to Lily’s apparent thought that she’ll be gone forever. “But you’ll be back,” she finally says, brushing at the fabric of Lily’s sweater. “You’ll be back to visit, and you’ll have amazing tales to tell us about all of the dragons you’ve seen.”

“And maybe you’ll find a girlfriend so Grandma can stop trying to set you up,” Harry hints.

“The last one wasn’t so bad,” Ginny says, but her grin belies the truth.

“Mom! She looked like she was about 40.”

“Definitely not older than 38.”

Nobody says anything for a few minutes. They sit together, warm on the porch, drinking their slowly cooling tea, bodies pressing together, watching the moon in the sky. After a short bout of silence, they hear small footsteps behind them, hushed breath. Harry turns to see Harriet, her messy black hair and sharp green eyes blinking in the moonlight. “What are you all doing out here?”

“Talking about your sister’s new job. Want to come sit with us?”

She nods, her small head bobbing softly. Ginny reaches out to hold her, but Harriet bypasses her mother and crawls, instead, into her sister’s lap. “I’m gonna miss you,” she tells Lily, reaching up to stroke her face. “Will you bring me a present when you come back?”

“Only if you promise to behave while I’m gone.” Harriet makes a grimace. Her and her brother Art, only eight and half months apart, have wreaked more havoc than all of the other children combined.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Ginny says. She sets her mug on the stairs and rises from where she was sitting. She picks Harriet up and nods to Harry and Lily. “Don’t keep him up too late. He’s supposed to take the kids to school tomorrow morning.”

Harry waits until he hears Ginny’s quiet steps, climbing the stairs to put Harriet to bed. He turns to Lily and says what he’s wanted to say all night. “I hope that this is everything you dreamed and more. I hope it’s everything you wanted. But, you know, if you’re not happy, if it doesn’t feel right, you’ll always be welcome here. At home.”

Lily lets out a breath and Harry wonders if she, even for a second, thought that wouldn’t be the case. She sucks in a wet sigh and surges forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispers in his ear, like her voice isn’t quite working anymore.

The next morning, they all wave her off. Charlie comes to meet her and will be travelling with her to the main office (which he says is really just a one room building in the middle of a valley). He reassures Harry that she will be okay – it’s not common for trainees to die (very reassuring) and then they are gone. Harry doesn’t have long to think about his daughter’s absence, he needs to get the four youngest off to school, but there is a twinge, deep in his gut, as he thinks about her absence. When he thinks about the fact that she is not just going off to Hogwarts for three short months, but will be gone for twice that time and then maybe longer in the future the pain twists deeper. He knows she will do well – she has always succeeded at everything she tries. And that means the absences will get longer and longer and eventually, they may go years without seeing one another, as it was with the Weasley family and Charlie. It breaks his heart, but he shakes the feeling off and focuses on the two children tugging at his hands. Gid and Fabian are walking ahead of Harry, Art, and Harriet. The twins always try to separate themselves from their younger siblings, who everyone always thinks act more like twins than their older brothers. Art and Harriet are talking about some prank they want to pull on their teacher. He doesn’t have much time to ruminate on Lily’s absence as he has to focus on convincing his dynamic duo that gluing their teacher’s markers to the whiteboard would not be a good idea. He will just have to look forward to seeing her when she comes back home to visit and tell him all about her adventures in Romania.


	6. This Time, I'm Begging You to Forget.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected and unwelcome letter brings up difficult and long forgotten memories for Harry. Shame and terror are unwelcome bedfellows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains non-graphic references to child abuse.

* * *

_I'm the breath you take in and let all the way out to the end_

_When you're held_

It’s two days after Harry’s 40th birthday when the news comes. He receives a letter, not by owl mail, but in the post box at the front of their walkway. Even though the only thing that’s usually in the box is flyers or garbage, he’s made a habit of checking it every day. He finds the letter, addressed in unfamiliar handwriting, and wonders what sort of muggle would be trying to reach him and how they would have found his address.

When he gets inside, James and Al are arguing over the invisibility cloak while Lily sits, unperturbed, reading a book about “hidden creatures of the wild” that Luna recently gave her. “You had it last year!” James spits and moves to snatch at the cloak. “Mom said we had to trade back and forth!”

Gideon and Fabian, the twins, are playing under the kitchen table while Ginny, feeding Art and Harriet, their newest additions to the family, somehow manages to completely ignore her two eldest as they argue.

“Figure it out calmly or nobody gets the cloak _or_ the map,” Harry says distractedly, as he opens the cream white envelope. A letter comes out, handwritten and on a thick card stock. He pats Lily’s legs so that she will move them, allowing him to sit on the far end of the sofa. After just a moment, she unbends her long legs and presses her feet against the side of his, still reading her book. Harry has to read the letter over three times to be sure he hasn’t misread it. He doesn’t notice when James and Al make up their minds to decide who gets the cloak by flipping a galleon, doesn’t notice when Art shoves the bowl of strained peas out of Ginny’s hands and it clatters to the floor, doesn’t notice when Lily says “Dad?” and sets down her book to look at him with concerned eyes.

“I need…I just need a minute,” Harry says, on autopilot, not thinking. He rises off of the couch and strides past the boys to go upstairs. He secludes himself in the study, shutting the door and leaning against it so that he can slide down the door. He’s not sure why it’s upset him so, the news. But his uncle Vernon, the man who housed him for 16 of his first 17 years on this planet, has died. The letter is from his aunt Petunia, and though he’s still wondering how she managed to find him, he disregards the wonder to focus on his confused feelings over the death of his uncle. Harry was never loved by his aunt and uncle, often neglected, and sometimes harmed. But they were integral to his upbringing and a strange feeling collects itself in his chest as he thinks about the fact that Vernon is no longer alive.

There’s a knocking on the door that sounds like it’s very far away, like Harry has cotton in his ears. “Harry?” It’s Ginny, sounding slightly worried.

“I’m okay,” he says, though his voice cracks unexpectedly. “I just…” He doesn’t finish the thought and she tries to open the door, the thick wood bumping into Harry’s back.

“Can I come in?”

“Where are the kids?” He doesn’t want them to see him like this. Confused, unsettled, uncertain. They don’t really know anything about Petunia and Vernon other than the fact that Harry grew up there until he was 17. He wants to leave it that way – he doesn’t want to share that part of his life with them, doesn’t want them to know that their lives were so close to being touched by something so awful.

“I’m alone,” Ginny says, like she’s reading his mind. “Al took over feeding the babies.”

So, he lets her in, scoots forward so that the door will open, even though he’s confused about how he feels and thinks he should be alone to sort these things out; Ginny will forgive him his emotional turmoil. She closes the door behind herself and drops to the floor with Harry, wrapping her fingers around his knee in an offer of comfort. She waits for him to come to her, to say something. He’s always loved that Ginny is never pushy, just there for him, arms open, non-judgmental.

He holds up the letter for her to see, though she certainly can’t read it, as his hand’s shaking. “Vernon…died.”

She frowns slightly and then nods. Ginny doesn’t know about everything that happened at the Dursleys’. Harry knows she wouldn’t hold it against him, but his pride has still kept him from sharing the worst of it with her. That said, she knows enough to know that there was no love lost between Harry and his uncle. She still reaches out to cup the side of his face with her palm, takes the letter from him and drops it to the floor. “Come here,” she says, and he does.

He surges forward and presses his face to her neck, suddenly feeling the heat of damp tears prickling at his eyes. He can’t explain the emotion – he isn’t sad that Vernon’s gone, but it’s like something has released in his chest. Some box that he hadn’t known was locked has suddenly opened itself for him. There’s a hollow pain in his chest and a low rumbling in his stomach. His head starts to ache, and the tears flow freely. His hands fist in the back of Ginny’s jumper and she runs her hands up and down his back. “That’s right,” she tells him, sounding the same way that she does when she comforts one of the kids after they have fallen down or broken something. She is gentle and soft, her voice a soothing balm to the strange and unfamiliar emotions.

“I don’t know what my problem is,” Harry tells her. “I haven’t seen him in 23 years. I haven’t given him a thought in all that time.”

Ginny doesn’t say anything at that, she just keeps comforting him, pulling him closer to her. Something crashes downstairs and she doesn’t even flinch at it. Harry looks at the door. “They’ve got things covered for now,” she reassures him, not looking up.

After he’s been able to gather himself again, Harry sits back and wipes at his face, only moderately embarrassed about the outburst. If it had been anyone other than Ginny, he would be awash in humiliation, but she just smiles gently at him and waits while he picks up the letter. “It’s got the details of the service,” he says, his voice thick. “I don’t know why she would think I’d want to go.”

“Do you?”

“No,” he says instantly, knowing that it’s true. “I don’t want any part of that life.”

“Okay,” Ginny says slowly, reaching out to finally take the letter from him. “What do you want to do?”

Harry takes a steadying breath and then slaps his hands on his thighs, decided. “I want to burn it and forget about it. What’s done is done.”

“If that’s what you want.” She looks like she doesn’t really believe him, but they are in uncharted territory here, and Ginny is going to trust Harry with this one.

“Yes. That’s what I want.” He rises from the floor and then reaches out to take her hand and help her up. He takes the letter and walks out the door, into the bathroom and drops the letter into the sink, lighting it with his wand. Ginny watches his reflection in the mirror, the flicker of the flames lighting his skin in the semi-darkness of the bathroom. Once it’s completely burned to ash, Harry turns on the taps and watches it drain down the sink. “There,” he says, drying his hands on the towel, “It’s done.” They head downstairs and don’t reference it again.

That night Harry has a nightmare. After a fitful hour of trying to fall asleep, his dreams keep him from getting any real rest. In his dream, he is himself – a 40-year-old grown man with a family. But he is back in the Dursleys’ home and the scene is a familiar one. It’s a dream he’s had many times, though not in recent memory. In it, he takes the place of his 9-year-old self and is being punished for failing to take the rubbish out in time for collection. His Uncle Vernon lifts him up and leans Harry over his knee, preparing to beat him. Harry begs his Uncle to wait, insists that he needs to go to the toilet first or he’ll wet himself, but Uncle Vernon ignores him. He does beat Harry, using his belt to do so and leaving large, red, painful welts in its wake.

In the dream, in the memory, in real life when the incident really occurred, Harry did wet himself. He is humiliated and wants to curl into a ball, but Uncle Vernon just becomes more outraged. Harry is forced to wear the wet pants for the rest of the day while he completes the rest of his chores, as punishment for, as Uncle Vernon says, “purposefully” wetting himself. He spends the day torn between wanting to cry and wanting to hide behind the hydrangeas. In his dream, he feels so small, so defeated, so demoralized. Dudley is laughing at him, pointing at him, saying his name over and over and over and over… “Harry,” he says, but it doesn’t quite sound like him. It sounds more feminine. Someone is pressing on his chest, shaking him. “Harry, wake up.” Harry wants to hide from Dudley, the shame is sour in his mouth and he’s tired of reliving this heinous memory. The living room starts to shift until it doesn’t look quite right anymore, and he can’t find anywhere to hide because the furniture is made of jello.

“Harry, you’re having a nightmare.”

His wakes suddenly and looks around frantically for a moment, unable to see in the darkness. He can’t quite pull himself from the dream and wonders if he is in the darkened and strange living room. “Aunt Petunia?” he says, and his voice sounds so small and so terrified that he doesn’t even recognize it.

“No, it’s me. Ginny.” His wife. He starts coming back to himself as she rubs his chest and gives him a moment to fully wake up. “You were having a nightmare, I think.” He thinks for a moment and then remembers the dream. That is a memory that he has never shared with anyone – not even Ginny. He thinks Snape may have caught a glimpse of it when he was giving him Occlumency lessons, but neither of them ever brought it up and Snape is gone anyways, so Harry pretends it is his secret and his alone. He groans and runs his hand through his hair, reaches over to the bedside table to get his glasses and shove them on.

“Sorry I woke you,” he grumbles.

“It’s okay, you know I don’t mind. But…” It sounds like Ginny has something to say, but she’s anxious. Did he wake one of the babies? He knows he talks in his sleep sometimes, but he’s not usually loud when he’s having a nightmare. “Harry, I think you wet the bed.”

“What?” He feels a sudden swell and thud of embarrassment in his stomach. There’s no way he’s done it again, not 31 years later. Not with his wife in his bed and his two infant children in his room. “That’s not possible.”

Ginny rolls over to turn on the lamp next to her and pulls the bedclothes back. There’s a wet stain on the crotch of his sleep pants which matches a stain on Ginny’s nightdress, where she’d been pressed against him. His feels the heat of his shame rise and knows his face and chest will be bright red even in the dimness of the room. He bites his lower lip and frowns at her, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to make this right. He feels like he might cry, but that’s a foolish response and so he swallows the lump in his throat and listens to his own gruff voice when he says, “I’m sorry.” He wants to hide like he hid in the dream, he wants to be somewhere else, someone else. If the mattress could swallow him whole right now, that might work, too.

“Hey,” Ginny reaches out to touch his arm and he can’t help flinching away, he feels disgusting. Like by letting her touch him, he will taint her. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.” Her voice is soothing, the way it was earlier today, when she held him while he cried. He can’t let her see him like this. Can’t let her think that this is who he is.

He gets out of bed suddenly, jolting away from Ginny. “This is disgusting.” He is overcome by the sudden and violent urge to get out of his pyjamas and tries to rip them off, almost tripping in his haste.

“It’s really okay. I’ve had worse.” Ginny’s urgency shifts when she sees him hastening to get away from the bed, from the room, from her. She gets up out of bed and manages to stop him before he finishes, his sleep pants around his ankles. “You had a nightmare,” she reminds him. “We can’t control what happens when we’re dreaming.” She wraps her arms around him and rests her head against his chest, and he wonders if she can hear the panicked tattoo that his heart is beating against his sternum.

“This has never happened before,” he tells her, voice thick in his throat. He finally returns her embrace, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. “I’m sorry,” he says it again because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Why don’t we take a shower?” She is gentle, kind, soft. He knows that she will never bring this up again and she will never tell a soul. He wants to cry now more than ever. Ginny peels off her nightdress, nothing underneath, and then takes Harry’s hand to lead him to their ensuite. She turns on the shower and pulls him in, watches him as the water plasters his hair to his forehead.

“Do you want to talk about the dream?” she asks, reaching for the bar of soap.

Usually, he would say no. But something on this night compels him to share with her. Perhaps it’s because she woke up in his mess and he feels she deserves to understand why. So, he tells her the story, tells her what happened when he was 9 and how sometimes, the memory still visits him in dreams. “But this,” Harry gestures at his crotch, “has never happened before.”

Ginny ignores his comment, her eyes alight with anger. “I’m so sorry he did that to you. I knew they were awful to you, but that is just…you poor thing. If he was still alive, I would kill him.” She squeezes his bicep and presses a kiss to the damp skin on his chest. Harry is grateful that she shows him her ire rather than her pity. He wishes he had told her this years ago because he feels comfort in her words. To hear someone who loves him so decry the way that he was raised means more, somehow, than his own decades-long misery.

After they’ve cleaned up, Ginny leaves Harry in the bathroom to towel off and by the time he’s joined her in the bedroom again, she’s switched out the bedding. She’s wearing a long t-shirt and sitting on top of the covers. She reaches out to take his hands and he climbs onto the bed so that he can rest against her. “I’m so sorry you had that dream,” she tells him. “I’m so sorry she wrote that damn letter and did this to you. It will be okay, though.” She is carding her fingers through his hair, and he feels his eyelids droop, his body feels heavy, and at some point, he thinks, she must remove his glasses.


	7. Who Are We Celebrating For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teddy comes to Harry for some help after botched anniversary celebrations. Harry's no great romantic, but at least he's never forgotten his wife's allergies...

* * *

_And your shoulders drop into arms_

_You flop that feel like a blanket of truth_

_And wrap you and sooth you_

_To the moon you thought was in the sky_

_~_

Ginny is trying to corral Harriet and Art so that they can get dressed for Sunday dinner at the Burrow. James and his partner will be meeting them there, Lily is still busy in Romania, and the twins are at Hogwarts. Albus is sitting patiently on the couch, reviewing some notes that Hermione recently sent him on banned potions ingredients. Harry, meanwhile, is working on convincing the family dog to come back inside before they leave. “Come on, Ramone, don’t you want a treat?’ He is trying to sound friendly, but his frustration has his voice turning gruffer and gruffer. The popping sound of someone aparating behind him startles Harry enough to drop the dog treat, which Ramone promptly snatches off the ground before running back to her tree.

“Teddy! What are you doing here?” Teddy and Victoire had begged off the regular Sunday dinner at the Burrow this week, as today is their one-year anniversary, so Harry is particularly surprised to see his godson in his backyard, looking forlorn. Teddy’s hair is dark brown, his eyes are downcast, and his hands are shoved in his pockets. Harry hasn’t seen him looking this dejected in a long time. “What’s going on?” Harry leaves Ramone to forage in the wilderness – she’s a big enough dog that she will be fine until they can catch her and bring her back inside.

Teddy walks over to the stairs at the back of the house and plops himself down heavily. “I fucked up,” he says. Harry has to stop himself from saying _language!_ At 30 years old, Teddy is old enough to decide for himself if he wants to swear and when. Instead, Harry holds up a finger and steps inside. He lets Albus know he might be late to dinner and that they should go on ahead without him. After coming back outside, he closes the door quietly and settles next to Teddy.

“Okay, spill.”

“Well, tonight was our anniversary.”

“I’m aware.”

Teddy glares at his godfather for a moment. “I’m setting the stage.”

“Of course. My apologies.” Harry tries not to laugh at the continued incredulity in Teddy’s voice.

“So I had booked us a reservation at this new restaurant in that had just opened up. It’s so hard to get a reservation, but I told them…I told them I was Harry Potter’s godson.” Teddy has the good grace to blush here – Harry has never condoned using his name or position as a means to get something that other people don’t have access to. Teddy looks so morose tonight though, that Harry can’t bring himself to chastise him. He just waits a breath and Teddy sighs, sounding slightly relieved, before continuing. “But we get there, and just as we’re walking in, I remember.”

“Remember what?”

“It’s a steakhouse.”

“Oh.” Harry nods quickly. Victoire pronounced she was vegetarian five years ago, and has actively campaigned for the rest of the family to follow suit. While no-one has taken up with her just yet, everyone is very aware of her dietary restrictions.

  
Teddy sighs loudly. “It gets worse. We somehow made it thought dinner without her killing me. I think it helped that I ordered a salad, too. Which is just tragic – I’m not going to get a table there again any time soon and all the food looked so good.” He looks at Harry miserably, but Harry just waits to hear the rest. “We go home, and I thought it would be nice to have something romantic waiting for her, you know. I asked James to sneak in while we were at dinner and put rose petals everywhere…”

“Ah,” Harry says with understanding. Victoire is allergic to roses – has been since her anyone can remember. They had cala lilies at their wedding because they are, surprisingly, one of the few flowers that don’t bother her allergies. _How_ Teddy forgot, after knowing the woman for almost his entire life, is beyond Harry.

“I’m not done yet.” Teddy drops his head to his hands and lets out a muffled moan before going on. Harry just pats his back roughly. “James thought it would be funny, or romantic, I don’t know…to leave some lingerie on the bed, which is so not Victoire’s style, and when she saw it, she thought it was _someone else’s_.”

Harry winces. Threes strikes...“I can hit him for you, it you like,” he offers.

“I’d really prefer to do it myself. I think I could have explained the restaurant away well enough. New restaurant, trying to impress her, blah blah blah. I think I could have even gotten away with the roses if I tried. A simple mistake what with all the nerves of the first year. But the lingerie…it just sent her over the edge, Harry. She was yelling at me to get out, and I didn’t even have a chance to explain. She thought the _whole night_ was for someone else. Like I’ve been married to two people and forgot tonight was our night, or something.”

“Well, it is a little weird to forget she’s vegetarian.”

“I know.”

“And that she’s allergic to roses.”

Teddy hissed at that. “I know! I screwed up. I don’t need you reminding me.”

Harry thinks for a moment, letting out a puff of air. He leans back a little, patting Teddy’s back once more. His godson has never been that great with women, and the fact that he managed to end up married to Victoire after breaking up and getting back together with her four times does seem to be a bit of a miracle. But Harry can imagine even Ginny, patient and understanding as she is, reacting hotly if he made plans for their anniversary that seemed to be for someone else.

“So what are you going to do?” Harry asks, leaning forward to make eye contact with Teddy.

“That’s why I’m here,” he moans. “I need your advice.”

“You need to apologize to her,” Albus speaks, not Harry. Both Teddy and Harry whip around to see Albus standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks unaffected by the nonplussed expression worn by his father and godbrother. “What? Just apologize.”

“It’s not that easy, Al,” Teddy shakes his head and laughs a little, like Al is just being silly.

“No? Why not?” Albus seems genuinely curious and takes another step out onto the back deck, dropping to sit cross-legged behind Harry and Teddy. “When I make a mistake, I say sorry and that usually helps.”

“Well yes, I suppose it would be a start. But the thing is, she doesn’t just see it as a mistake. I’ve offended her.”

Harry thinks for a moment on this, pondering the few times that he has offended Ginny enough to end up in the doghouse. “You know, Ted, I think that Al is right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Assuming you can talk to her without her throwing things at you, an apology is a good first step. That, and a second go at the anniversary celebrations. And maybe don’t ask James for help on this one.”

Albus laughs loudly. “You asked _James_ for help? He’s lucky that Pat hasn’t left him yet. He’s such a prat.”

Harry swats at Albus, but not too hard – he can’t actually disagree with his son there. Teddy rises from the stairs and brushes his hands on his thighs anxiously. “Okay, I’m going to try it. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck. You’ll be fine – just…be honest, and let her know how you really feel.”

“Like I’m nervous that I’m going to have to sleep at my godfather's house for a week?"

“Maybe don’t take it that far.” Harry and Al remain on the step and watch Teddy hasten to the aparation point in the yard.

“He’s going to make a right mess of things,” Albus says, looking down at his cuticles.

“Probably. I should ask your mom to put clean sheets on Fabian’s bed, just in case.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

Harry turns to look at Albus, and there is a faint smirk on his son’s face. “I know what I am and am not allowed to do in this house,” Harry says, thinking carefully about his words. “It’s one thing for me to help with laundry, but if I start going around and giving your mother more work to do because I can’t figure out how to work a fitted sheet, I’ll be the one apologizing.”

Albus laughs quietly at this, a low and lilting sound, before he is cut off by Ginny’s call. “We’re already late! Let’s get a move on!”

Harry pushes himself up from the stairs and just manages to move out of the way as Ramone comes bounding inside, eager for a treat at the sound of Ginny’s voice.


	8. I'll Love You Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn’t matter how many children Ginny and Harry have raised – they still seem to be able to surprise their parents. When Gideon shares a secret with his twin, Harry and Ginny are confronted with the challenge of mending damaged bonds and reassuring a frightened child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story references a difficult experience of questioning one's gender. While there are no slurs or violence, reading about this may be triggering to some. Please take care of yourself, and skip reading this if you think it might be difficult for you. Lots of love! xoxo

* * *

_I'm the backbone that holds it all together_

_The vertebrae stacked on top of each other_

_When it's all gone pear shaped and wrong_

_~_

The kids have only been back from Hogwarts for a week when it happens. Ginny is out for lunch with Luna and Harry has been trying to convince Art and Harriet to stop sending anonymous, ink splattering letters to their Uncle Percy. As much as Harry struggles to get along with Percy, he doesn’t think anyone deserves a constant barrage of the new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes product. Maybe one or two, at the most. There’s also no way that Percy will be unsure of where the letters have come from – out of all of Molly and Arthur’s grandkids, Art and Harriet are the only two who would stoop so low on such a regular basis.

Right now, the dynamic duo is in Harriet’s room, pretending to listen to a Pink Floyd album on Art’s record player (a gift from his namesake). Harry is sure they are pretending because when he walks in, there is some quick shuffling of paper and quiet, conspiratorial murmurs.

“What are you two doing?” he asks from the doorway.

“Listening to music,” Art offers, rolling his eyes as his father’s apparent idiocy.

“Mhm,” Harry tries to raise an eyebrow like Ginny, but he’s never been able to strike the same level of fear into the kids as she has. “And those purple envelopes that just got shoved under Harriet’s rubbish bin?”

Art shrugs his shoulders. “Haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about.”

“Purple envelopes?” Harriet asks right after, like their sentences are connected. “What would we need purple envelopes for?”

Harry crosses his arms and tries to look stern. “We’ve talked about this. You’ve got to stop sending those letters to Uncle Percy.”

“He’s a tosser,” Art says, and then looks slightly abashed.

Harry frowns and takes a step into the room. “Why would you say that? When has Uncle Percy ever been anything but kind to you?”

Harriet looks like she’s unsure of herself, which is not something that Harry is used to. “It’s not to us,” she says, dragging her words out. “But we know what happened, Dad.”

“When you and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione were fighting Voldemort –“

“And he just up and left everyone –“

“Pretending that he didn’t agree with you!”

Harry chews his lip for a moment. Their timeline is a little off, but ultimately, they’re not wrong about Percy’s decision to abandon his family in one of the most trying times of their lives. But that time is long passed, and Percy has worked for years to make amends with his family. All of the other Weasleys have forgiven him, so what reason would Harry (or his children) have to hold a grudge? “People make mistakes,” he says thoughtfully.

Art is about to open his mouth to respond when a booming shout from the third-floor shocks Harry out of his thoughtful state. “Stay here,” he tells the 12- and 13-year-old miscreants. As an afterthought, already halfway to the stairs, he shouts over his shoulder, “And no more letters!”

While Fabian and Gideon had originally shared Teddy’s room, after Harriet and Art had been born more space was needed for the ever-growing family, and so a third floor had been added to the house. The space is small and reminds Harry somewhat of Ron’s room at the Burrow, squished up under that attic. The twins have never complained about sharing a space, but now that they are 15, there seem to be more and more arguments erupting between them. There’s never been a shout like the one Harry just heard, though.

When he arrives at the top of the stairs, which opens into the twins’ room, he finds his boys standing across the room from each other, wands out. “What is going on up here?” He immediately steps between them, reaching out to lower both of their wands gently. He glances from boy to boy, taking in their reddened faces (they inherited the tell-tale Weasley flush) and their thin mouths – both clear signs of anger from the identical twins.

“I won’t share a room with him anymore,” Fabian spits, his fist clenched tightly around his wand. “I’m moving into James’ room, right now.” He turns from the conversation and moves as though to begin packing up his belongings.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Harry says in a rush, moving to take the wands from the boys. He pockets them and takes a deep breath. “First of all, you both know it is not okay to do magic at home. Not until you’re 17.”

Gideon frowns. “You did magic outside of school when you were-“

“Yes, we all know about _my_ childhood, thank you. We’re talking about your misbehaviour at the moment.”

At this, Fabian lets out a half groan, half shout of anger. He throws up his hands, dropping the bundle of clothing that he had been unloading from the dresser onto his bed. “You never had to deal with a brother, Dad! You don’t know what it’s like, being stuck with him all the time!”

“You!? Stuck with _me_?” Gideon laughs, but there’s no humour in it. He’s glaring at his brother.

“You’re right,” Harry says, feeling his heartrate slow when Fabian sits on his bed with a sigh. His pile of clothing falls over next to him. “I never had any brothers, or sisters. But you two, luckily, have a lot of them. You’ve got plenty of experience fighting with them, so what’s going on? What makes this time so different?”

“He’s an arse!” Both of the twins speak at the same time, echoing each other’s sentiments. Then their faces sour when they realize they’ve said the same thing.

“Language,” Harry says, though it’s more of a habit than genuine concern at this point. “What are you two fighting about?” he asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gideon says, walking over to the window so that he can look outside. “When’s Mom going to be home?”

Gideon’s question stings a little. Harry may not have had siblings of his own, but Ron and George are more like brothers to him than anything else, and, with Ginny, he’s raised 8 children. They’ve worked through a lot of sibling rivalries and fights, so he doesn’t feel that he’s wholly inadequate here. “We don’t need to wait for your mother,” he finally says. “We can work through this together. Tell me what’s going on.”

Fabian hisses angrily. “I don’t want to talk about what’s going on! Sometimes, I wish I had never been born a twin.”

Gideon’s face crumples. It’s always been hard for them, to be sure. Everyone knows that they are related to Fred and George, and it’s been a constant point of conversation that the Potter twins are nowhere near as close as their uncles had been. It doesn’t help that they are identical and look so much like Fred and George – bright red hair, faces covered in freckles, both of them hungry on the quidditch pitch. But that, Harry thinks, is really where the similarities end. His boys are both studious, serious, and act a bit more like Percy than any other family member of theirs. Harry’s heart jerks for a moment when he thinks about the wedge that still exists between Percy and his siblings to this day. Will Gideon and Fabian be like that? One day, so far apart that the only warmth between them will be what he and Ginny can generate? Will there be cold civility rather than the warm affection of family? Harry can’t stand it, thinking about his boys living like Percy does.

“You don’t mean that,” Harry finally says. “You love your brother.”

Fabian doesn’t say anything, just picks at a patch on his denims.

Gideon speaks up though, his voice a bit higher than it was before. “Would be nice if he could act like it, at least every now and then.”

Harry’s at a loss. He doesn’t even know what they’re arguing about, but the boys are sending stinging jibes across the room at one another, and he feels like he needs to reel the conversation in. “Okay, just tell me…what were you arguing about?” The brothers look to one another, like they’re unsure if they should say anything. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry says, after giving them a moment. “I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

“We were fighting about you,” Gideon finally says, his voice tight.

Harry grimaces. “I am not worth fighting over.”

Gideon’s words tumble out at that, like he can’t stop them. ‘’Fabian says that you were foolish, leaving Hogwarts when you were 17, to find the horcruxes. But I said that there’s no way Voldemort would have been stopped if you hadn’t done it. But he says someone else could have.”

Harry finds himself rubbing his scar and frowning. His teenage decisions, right or wrong, impacted so many lives, so long ago. They shouldn’t still be creating rifts, and particularly not within his family. “That,” he finally says, chest constricting, “is one of the stupidest things you could fight about. Who cares? Of course it was foolish! We’re lucky we didn’t die!”

“So you’re siding with him?” Gideon looks hurt and Fabian appears to be shocked.

“I’m not siding with anyone. I’m telling you it’s a stupid thing to fight about. If I hadn’t done that, there’s a chance Voldemort would be in power today and none of you would have been born. I don’t regret what I did, but it _was_ foolish.”

“So you’re telling me,” Fabian asks, almost whispering, “that _we_ should do foolish things, too, on the off-chance that they may have a beneficial result in the long run?”

“What? No, I never said that. What is going on?” Harry is running out of steam, he knows there’s more to the conversation here. One of his boys is thinking of doing something stupid – that’s what they’ve actually been fighting about. “Who’s doing something foolish?”

“Gid said that –“ Fabian starts, but Gideon cuts him off before he can finish.

“Shut your mouth!” He starts like he is going to make a run at his brother and Harry throws out an arm to stop him.

“What are you planning on doing, Gideon?”

“Not planning on anything, just thinking about it. And I was asking my brother for his _advice_ and then he just turned it around and started acting like a total twat.”

“Language!” Harry frowns at both of them. “We’re not getting anywhere. Fabian, go get your brother and sister and take them into town for an ice cream.”

“Why do I have to go?” he whines.

“This isn’t up for discussion. Go. Now.” He waits until he hears Fabian, grumbling all the way, get to the bottom of the stairs before he directs Gideon to sit on his bed, pointing at it hastily. “Now tell me exactly what you’re thinking of doing, and why it’s got your brother so upset.” Harry is shocked when Gideon looks like he is going to cry. His eyes become red, his face crumples, and his hands curl into fists where they rest on his lap. “I’m not going to be mad at you,” Harry tries, though that’s a promise he isn’t sure if he can keep.

He can feel the tension radiating from Gideon, a nervousness that isn’t familiar from the generally confident boy. Harry has to fight the sudden urge to reach out and comfort Gideon, feeling that he might not appreciate physical affection right now. Instead, he walks over to put Fabian’s wand on top of his bedside table and then does the same with Gideon’s, before sitting down next to him on the bed. Once he looks back at Gideon, thinking he will have used the moment to compose himself, he finds, instead, that he is openly crying. “Hey,” Harry says, voice suddenly soft. He ignores his instinct to give Gideon space, and wraps an arm around him. Gideon presses himself into his father’s side, wrapping his arms around him and crushing Harry in the sudden hug. “Whatever it is,” Harry says, realizing belatedly that this is a bigger issue than simple teenage foolishness, “we can work through it together.”

Gideon is sobbing without reserve now, sucking in deep gasping breaths against Harry’s shoulder, his body shaking with the emotion. It seems to have come out of nowhere and Harry, caught off guard, isn’t sure what to do other than to rub Gideon’s back and murmur words of comfort to his son. After a few minutes, Gideon quiets and pulls back a little from Harry without fulling disentangling himself from his father’s embrace. “Do you think you’re ready to tell me what’s going on?”

Looking slightly embarrassed, Gideon wipes hastily at his face to try to get rid of the tears, but his cheeks are still wet, and Harry doesn’t stop himself from reaching out to brush at the dampness, smoothing a curl of hair off of Gideon’s face. “You can tell me anything,” he says, trying to channel Ginny’s capacity to communicate with their kids. “You know that, right?”

“There’s nothing,” Gideon says nervously, looking away from Harry for a moment, “that would make you stop loving me, right?”

“Nothing at all,” he responds in earnest and without thought.

“What if…” Gideon’s voice is shaking, his hands are vibrating, and he looks like he wants to crumple into a ball and crawl under his bed.

“I find,” Harry offers, “when I’m nervous about something, it is easiest to take a deep breath and get it over with. A bit like pulling a plaster off.”

“Right,” Gideon sucks in a deep breath and then speaks, his words coming out in a rush. “What if I wasn’t a boy?”

Harry frowns for a moment, now thoroughly confused. “I don’t…know what you mean.”

Gideon sighs in exasperation. “This is why I wanted to wait for mom to get home! She would understand.”

“Hey,” Harry cuts him off, squeezing him once more to remind him of the hug they just shared. “I can do this, too, you know. Help me out. What if you weren’t a boy…do you mean, what if you had been born a girl?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, then…I think you would be sharing a room with Harriet instead Fabian.”

Gideon laughs wetly, staring at a point on the wall ahead of him. “And would you still love me?”

Harry is, yet again, caught off-guard by this. He has two daughters who he loves just as much as any of his sons – he doesn’t think that he’s ever shown favouritism, he doesn’t feel it in his heart. So, he answers the only way he knows how. “Of course, I would.”

Gideon takes another shuddering breath and looks at Harry now, working to maintain eye contact. “So, if I told you I thought I was a girl, what would you do?”

“I would…ask you…if you think Gideon is an appropriate name for a girl.” The words come out of their own accord, and Harry isn’t certain if it’s the right response. He’s starting to think it might have, indeed, been better to wait for Ginny to come home. He questions himself further when Gideon starts crying anew and crumples once more to hug his father, pressing his face into Harry’s chest.

“You mean it?” he asks, voice muffled by the fabric of Harry’s t-shirt.

“Yes. I don’t know…Gideon, I don’t know if I’m doing this right. But I want you to know that I love you no matter what. I’m going to support you with whatever you need to feel whole. What do you need?”

Gideon doesn’t say anything for a long moment, stays with his face pressed against Harry and then straightens. “I’m still…not sure. I’m just wondering, you know. Do you think we could go to the muggle library tomorrow and see if we can find any…information?”

Harry nods. “You want me to go with you?” He has a meeting tomorrow, but he can shuffle it around if he needs to. He’s also a little nervous Gideon might say no, that he wants his mother instead. Harry tries not to be hurt when his children appear to favour Ginny’s support, particularly around emotional situations. He’s perfectly aware that despite all the work he’s done, he’s still not quite as adept as she is at knowing the right words to use and when.

“Do you mind?” Gideon asks, looking so much like he did when he was four years old and begged Harry to take him for a ride on the broom.

“I don’t mind at all.” They sit together in silence for a few moments, Harry’s arm around Gideon and Gideon’s breathing evening out. Finally, Harry asks, “Is this what you and Fabian were fighting about?”

Gideon’s breath hitches anew, and Harry wants to slap himself for bringing up the fight. “I…told him I might be, you know, a girl. And he said it was selfish of me. That the Daily Prophet would probably write something nasty about you, about us.”

Harry’s stomach drops. Sometimes he forgets that, even now, decades after his time as “the chosen one”, his family is still at the mercy of the public news. He’s gotten so used to it, he just brushes it off when there’s a small article or front-page picture mentioning him or a member of his family doing some new, inappropriate thing. But it impacts his children, who are young and experiencing it without having the chance to walk away. They are stuck with him and stuck in the limelight. Just like he was and through no fault of their own, their lives are subject to the whims of the public interest.

“Who cares?” Harry asks finally, trying to make his voice light. “I’ve been in the Daily Prophet for a lot of ridiculous things over the years, and I can think of a lot of worse reasons to be on the front page than having a child who is able to be happy.” Gideon breathes a sigh – Harry hopes it is a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry your brother said those things to you, though,” Harry murmurs. “That wasn’t fair, or kind.”

“I don’t think he meant to be hurtful,” Gideon mutters. “But it was awful, Dad. He’s the first person I told. I was just asking if he thought it was…abnormal.”

“Hey,” Harry says sharply, turning to make eye contact once again. “There is _nothing_ abnormal about you. Do you understand me?”

“I don’t know…”

“I’m serious here. Other than your strange affliction for reading just as much as your Aunt Hermione, you are a totally normal kid.”

Gideon offers him a watery smile. “Coming from you, I don’t know how much that counts.”

“I knew a lot of normal people when I was growing up,” Harry says, smirking a little. “I’ll talk to your brother, he’ll come around. He’s just not thinking of this the right way.”

“What about mom? Do you think she’ll be mad?”

Harry thinks for a moment. Ginny, like him, will probably be surprised, but he knows there’s no way she’ll be _mad_. “I think she would appreciate it if you told her, if you shared this with her on your own.”

“You mean without you there?” Gideon sounds a little nervous now.

“I can be there, if you want. But it’s special, like this, isn’t it? Having a moment together, that we can remember. I think your mom would like to have a moment with you, where she can support you, like I have.”

“Okay,” Gideon breathes in deeply and then huffs out a long breath. “Okay, I’ll tell her. But I don’t know for sure yet,” he qualifies, “I’m just…wondering.”

“And I hope we can help you find out whatever you need to find out so that you don’t have to wonder anymore.”

“Me too.” Gideon sounds a little miserable at that, plucking at Harry’s heart with the misery in his voice.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Harry tries again. “I mean it.”

“Okay.” Gideon doesn’t sound like he completely believes him, but he does sound hopeful.

~

That night, Fabian sleeps in James’ old bed, the argument between the twins assuaged, but the hurt between them still palpable. Harry knows that there is still more work to do to mend their bond, to help Fabian understand how harmful his response was, to soothe Gideon’s aching heart. Dinner was a muted affair; even Art and Harriet appeared to understand the need for quiet, without knowing what was happening.

When everyone has gone to bed, Ginny joins Gideon in the attic for a conversation and she doesn’t come down until Harry has been reading in bed for almost half an hour. When she enters their bedroom, her eyes are red, like she’s been crying, but she looks fine – a gentle smile on her lips.

“Everything okay?” Harry asks, wondering how she will respond.

Ginny walks over to the dirty laundry basket and starts stripping off her clothes, dropping them on top of the pile of clothing. Harry needs to do the laundry tomorrow. She turns around once she’s just in her bra and underwear and crawls onto the bed, reaching for Harry. He drops his book to the floor, his hands sinking to wrap around her waist. She lowers herself onto the mattress so that she can rest her head on his chest, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for encouraging him to tell me,” she finally says. Harry’s hand trails up and down her back. “He was so scared,” she says, her voice hitching a little. She pulls back to look Harry in the eye. “What did we do wrong,” she asks, “to make him think we would ever…ever stop loving him?”

“I don’t think we did anything wrong,” he tells her, though he mostly means _she_ didn’t do anything wrong. She is so loving and open with the children, even after all of the hell that they have put her through. It was, after all, _Ginny_ that Gideon wanted earlier today when he was terror-filled as a result of his brother’s comments.

“He seemed to think we wouldn’t want him here anymore.”

“He’s just scared,” Harry says. “This is new to all of us.”

“He told me that you’re taking him to the muggle library tomorrow?”

Harry shrugs, chews his lower lip for a while. “I’m sure that we could find more helpful information out from Hermione, but something tells me he’s not quite ready for that conversation yet.”

“Don’t you have a meeting tomorrow?”

“I’ve asked Davidson to cover for me…she’ll take some notes.”

“Harry…”

“It’s okay,” he tells her, tracing small patterns along the top of her arm, “being the head of Magical Law Enforcement does come with some perks. Not many, but…”

Ginny huffs a quiet laugh. She presses her palm to his stomach and leans back, kisses him quickly before rolling to get back up and put on her pyjamas. “I just don’t want him to…I don’t want him to struggle any more than he has to,” she says, her voice sounding a little defeated as she removes her bra and pulls on a sleep shirt.

“Me neither,” Harry muses, watching Ginny shimmy out of her underpants. No matter how serious the conversation, she still manages to distract him, if only just a little. “That’s why we’ve got to make sure everyone in our family has his back with this.”

“Do you think we should tell anyone?” She sounds uncertain, lost, confused. It’s not like Ginny to be unsure of herself, but this is new territory for them.

“I don’t think so. I think we should make sure that Gideon knows we will do whatever he needs us to do, and then let him decide from there.”

“Wow,” Ginny says, climbing back in bed now that she has her pyjama shorts on.

“What?” Harry asks, letting her take off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. She leans in to kiss him, her lips right against his as she breathes her answer.

“I didn’t realize you were this smart.”

Harry laughs quietly and kisses her while she turns out the lights. Tomorrow, he will take Gideon to the library and they will learn new terminology and things that Harry never expected to learn in his life. He expects there will probably be more tears and a lot more fear. But together, he and Ginny, they can make sure that Gideon has what he needs – no matter what happens, they can help him make it through, just like they always have.


	9. Together.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly thinks that Harry and Ginny should be having children a little sooner than the married couple does. When Molly and Ginny have another row about it, Harry has to navigate the stormy waters of supporting his wife without upsetting his beloved mother-in-law.

* * *

_I'm the bitin' on your lip keepin' it zipped_

_Swallowin' words that could wound and rip apart_

_I'm choosin' kindness over bein' right_

~

Arthur twiddles with the Gameboy that Harry brought over. One of Harry’s favourite outings with Ginny is going to muggle shops and seeing if they can find new things with which Arthur can tinker. It gets them out of the eye of the wizarding community for a while (which is sorely needed now that _both_ Ginny and Harry are getting asked for their autographs), and it means that Harry and Arthur can have conversations like this one.

“They really give these to children?” Arthur asks, his eyes alight with wonder as he pries at the seam on the side of the electronic.

“Yeah, well, this one’s a little older,” Harry says, grinning as Arthur’s fingers separate the two pieces of faded, grey plastic. “My cousin Dudley got one of these when we were about ten years old. But yeah, they make newer ones now that kids play with. They’re different colours.” Harry’s leaning against a ladder that rests against one of the any shelves, his foot up on one of the rungs as Arthur prods at the green computer chip inside the toy.

“So how are things, Harry?”

“Good, they’re good. Excited for Ron and Hermione’s wedding.”

“More excited for it to be over, I’d think,” Arthur looks up and winks conspiratorially at Harry.

Harry shrugs and looks away, caught in the truth. “I’m so happy for them, really, but it is a little exhausting to come home from work and have to make some new decoration. It seems like it’s every night. And if I have to be fit for one more set of dress robes…Hermione just needs to tell her mom that she likes the colours she’s chosen and leave it be.”

“It’s been taxing for Ron, too,”Arthur agrees, pulling down his magnifying lens to look more closely at the innards of the Gameboy.

“I’ll bet. I feel bad for him; marrying Ginny was the easiest thing I’ve done in the last five years _at least_.”

Arthur laughs. Molly wanted to have a lot of input regarding the Potters’ wedding, but Ginny put her foot down after the third argument about the flavour of the cake. After that, Molly’s job was simply to do as Ginny asked and, grateful to still be involved, she was somewhat sheepishly supportive.

“How are things with Ginny and you?” Arthur asks. Harry can hear in his voice that his father-in-law is trying to sound casual, but there’s a hint of sincere concern, and Harry wonders what Molly and Arthur have been discussing recently. Did his mother-in-law send Arthur on a fishing expedition? Is that why he asked Harry to come to the shed to look at the Gameboy with him?

“Really well,” Harry answers, stepping forward from the ladder so that he can pick at a dusty typewriter on one of the shelves. “Better than I would have imagined with Ginny on the road this season and me having so many active cases. I think moving out of Grimmauld place was good for us.”

“I don’t disagree with you there,” Arthur says, looking up from the Gameboy to wink at Harry. They are both silent for a moment as Arthur seems to be considering whether to ask another question. Then, after a beat, he asks, “Any more talk about kids?”

Harry snorts. “Molly put you up to this, didn’t she?”

Arthur’s face pinches, caught. “I think she just expected, since you got married so quickly after Ginny finished school…” He quickly looks back down at the Gameboy and Harry takes pity on him. He knows that Arthur would never push, is happy if his children are happy whether that means being solo and childless like Charlie, or married and eager to raise a family, like George and Bill have proven to be.

“I think I expected the same thing,” Harry says, honestly, setting down the torch he’s been looking at. “But, Ginny wants to wait a bit longer, so she can keep playing for a bit. I’m happy to wait, if that’s what she wants.” Arthur nods and swallows visibly. “Is Molly asking her about the same thing right now?”

Arthur shrugs but his frown belies the truth.

“Ginny won’t be happy about that,” Harry is the one who’s a little uncomfortable now. He doesn’t mind talking to Arthur about their decision because he knows that they won’t be judged. But Molly has made Ginny feel guilty about their decision more than once – telling her that it isn’t fair to keep Harry, who she thinks has always wanted a large family, from his dream. It often leads to sullen trips home and Ginny feeling on edge for days afterwards, even though Harry will tell anyone who will listen that he does not feel hard done by as a result of this decision. They made it together, after all. “Was it a planned ambush, then?” Harry asks, trying to keep his voice light.

“Molly just wanted to see if she could change Ginny’s mind.”

“I should probably go save her,” Harry says, already stepping towards the door of the shed.

“I’ll give you a few minutes’ head start, shall I?” Arthur’s no fool – if they both come in the house while mother and daughter are having a row, emotions will be high and it will be even more difficult to resolve.

“Thanks, Dad,” Harry nods at Arthur and closes the door as he strides towards the Burrow proper. He can see Ginny through one of the windows, framed by the faded floral curtains, her arms crossed and her countenance stiff. She’s not talking, but fiercely looking at something (likely her mother). As he gets closer, Ginny opens her mouth and while he can’t make out the words, he can hear the volume of her voice, raised above the usual decibel. He and Ginny don’t argue much at all, but he knows this version of her – this is a woman who will not be swayed from her position, stubborn and certain, sure in her beliefs. Molly is fighting a losing battle.

When he opens the door, he hears Ginny finishing sentence, “-told you, Harry and I both agreed!”

“And _I_ told _you,_ that boy would do anything to make you happy! Even it meant lying about what he wants!”

“Harry’s not a boy anymore , Mum! He’s a grown man who can tell me himself if he’s not happy!”

Harry rounds the corner of the sitting room, where the two women are arguing. Molly is standing beside the couch, a basket of laundry forgotten at her feet, and Ginny is standing close to the fireplace, like she is eager to leave. They were going to spend the entirety of Saturday at the Burrow, waiting for Ron and Hermione to arrive in a few hours, but Harry is thinking that might not happen now.

“What am I not happy about?” Harry tries to keep his voice light, pretending like he has no clue what they are arguing about. Ginny and Molly both whip around to look at him, their expressions similarly fierce from their argument. They both soften minutely at his appearance and open their mouths simultaneously to explain their “conversation”. Ginny beats Molly to the punch of answering him, though.

“My mother seems to think that I’m not doing my wifely duties. She says I’m failing you by not providing you with a _brood._ ”

“I never said that, Ginevra!” Molly looks affronted. She turns to Harry, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “I merely told her, Harry, that you were surely ready to have a family with her. You’ve talked about wanting children since the day you two got married.” Her eyes seem a little misty and Harry wants to go and hug her, but Ginny is still fuming and he thinks she might perceive that as his taking sides. So instead, he stays where he is and thinks for a moment. When he doesn’t answer right away, Ginny clears her throat.

“Well?” She asks, clearly wanting him to defend her position.

“I _do_ want a family,” Harry concedes. When Ginny opens her mouth to say something, he raises his hand to stop her. “But, I want to have a family when both of us are ready.” He walks over to her and puts his arm around her shoulder, pressing her into his side. “It’s really kind that you’re worried about me, Mol-Mom,” he’s still getting used to calling her that. “But honestly, Ginny and I have talked about this. And I’m a little surprised that you think Ginny would make a decision like this on her own, without thinking about my feelings, too.”

At that, Molly looks particularly abashed. She looks down at the laundry basket at her feet and Harry chances at glance at Ginny who is now fighting a smile. “Of course I don’t think she would, no,” Molly says, her voice quiet and little higher than it was before. “I just want you to be happy, both of you. And having children was the best thing I ever did.” She looks up from the laundry basket and walks over to them then, taking Ginny’s face in her hands. Harry feels like he’s intruding on a private moment and moves to step away, but Ginny stops him by hooking a finger in one of his belt loops.

“I just want you to have the same happiness I did, dear,” Molly says, her voice earnest. It’s the closest she’ll get to an apology, Harry thinks.

“We are happy, Mum,” Ginny says, using her free hand to hold one of Molly’s where it still rests on her face. “And we’ll probably have kids really soon, but we just aren’t ready yet. Harry’s gone more than half the time on missions, and I’m travelling all over with the Harpies. You know it wouldn’t be fair.”

Molly drops her hands and nods. “You know I’d always be happy to watch them for you, if need be.” It seems like much of the tension has ebbed from the air. Ginny laughs and lets go of Harry, releasing him. “Yes, we’ll certainly make use of that offer, I’m sure.”

The door opens and Harry hears Arthur whistling. “Family?”he calls, sounding for all the world like he doesn’t suspect they’ve been arguing.

“We’re in here, Arthur!” Molly picks up the basket of laundry and moves to go find her husband.

On their own for a moment, Harry turns to Ginny. “Sorry about that. As soon as I figured out it was a setup, I came right back.”

Ginny flaps her hand to wave off his apology. “Not your fault.” She seems to be thinking for a moment, chewing the inside of her lip. “ _Are_ you upset that we’re not having kids right now?”

“Of course not,” Harry says, and hopes that Ginny can see he genuinely means it. “We agreed together that we would wait until the time was right for both of us.” He pulls her into a hug and kisses the crown of head. After a moment, they hear the door to the Burrow open again, and Molly and Arthur are saying their hellos to Hermione. She’s arrived before Ron, who is supposed to be picking something new up for the wedding favours – Harry is certain they’ll be put to work at some point between lunch time and supper.

It’s almost 10pm before they are able to apparate home. Harry is still getting used to arriving in the well kept garden in front of the white washed home that he and Ginny have recently moved into. He feels a sense of warmth suffuse him when Ginny’s hand moves across his back, and she tucks it into his back pocket. “If I never have to make another bag of confetti, it’ll be too soon,” she groans.

It’s not completely Hermione’s fault. Harry thinks that some of this wedding stuff is likely for her parents, who only have one child that will ever get married. Still, he can’t help but agree with Ginny. Having a wedding with muggle guests means that many of the things they could usually do magically (for example, having the guests throw confetti with their wands) were a no-go, and they have had to prepare everything accordingly. His eyes are still a little buggy from making sure each small bag had just the right amount of blue and yellow confetti inside.

Once they get inside, they head into the kitchen where Ginny taps the kettle to heat some water and Harry pulls out two mugs. “So, you want to talk about the argument you and your mom had today?” Harry asks cautiously, not wanting to reignite Ginny’s earlier ire.

“It’s just so frustrating!” She pours the boiling water in their mugs and drops in two teabags each while she talks. “It’s the same every time. She starts the conversation about something innocuous and then somehow relates it to how that could better with kids. This time, she asked how it was going, decorating the house. Then she started talking about how we had so many bedrooms and which one would be the best for a nursery.”

Harry flicks the tag on his teabag and waits for Ginny to continue.

“I told her we had already picked a room for a nursery! We know we’re going to have kids, _just not right now_! I just feel like she’s not listening to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, unsure of what else to say.

“It wouldn’t be so maddening if she didn’t keep using you as a scapegoat. ‘Harry deserves a family! Harry talks about wanting kids! Imagine what a little baby Harry would look like.’ On and on. It makes me feel like she presumes to know you better than I do.” Ginny looks at Harry with a searching look in her eyes, like she’s desperate for him to deny everything she’s just said.

Instead, he says, “You know that I would tell you if I had changed my mind, right?”

Ginny deflates a little. “Of course I know that, it’s just hard not to let her get in my head.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Harry doesn’t particularly relish the idea of confronting Molly, but if it means that every visit to the Burrow won’t end in his wife feeling so upset, he’s willing to work through the discomfort.

“No, of course not.” Ginny reaches across the table, and puts her hand over his. She unconsciously begins to run her fingers over the scar on the back of his hand, the words faded almost so that they can’t be read properly. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

“I could just tell her that _I’m_ not ready for kids yet. That would get her to leave it be.”

“She wouldn’t believe you,” Ginny says. “No one who knows you would believe you.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Just don’t’ leave me alone with her until Ron and Hermione get married. After that, she can start bugging them about it.”

Harry laughs at her then, turning his hand over so that he can squeeze hers. This is how it is, he thinks, the two of them together against the world – whether that’s Death Eaters or just a well meaning mother-in-law.


End file.
